


Entelechy

by Saucery



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Males, Alpha!Stiles, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Assassination, Betrayal, Character Death, D/s, Dark, Dominance, Emotional Manipulation, Introspection, M/M, Murder, Mutiny, Necessity, Non-Explicit, Pack Dynamics, Politics, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Rebellion, Seduction, Strategy, Submission, The Power Behind the Throne, Usurpation, Violence, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-29
Updated: 2012-10-29
Packaged: 2017-11-17 06:46:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/548749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saucery/pseuds/Saucery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>En·tel·e·chy</i>, n. the condition of a thing whose essence is fully realized; actuality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Entelechy

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](http://saucefactory.tumblr.com/post/34534092182/i-want-stiles-to-do-this-to-peter-at-some-point-i) GIF-set.

* * *

  

It's not like Stiles hasn't wanted to do this, since day one, since the very first time he met Peter and realized how weak he was, how strong he had to  _be_.

It's not like he hasn't, but each impact still sends a thrill through him, a sick thrill that echoes in his ears like a second pulse. It buzzes through him, a thing of electricity and barbed wire, a circuit flushed with power and  _sizzling_ with it, his every nerve alive and singing with the need for more, more, _more_ -

But he stops, of course, because he isn't a brute, because he isn't unstable, because he isn't -

(Derek - )

And Peter just lies there, bones knitting together with tiny, audible cracks, his torn lips healing themselves but still slick and gleaming with blood, still scenting the air like a fresh kill.

Stiles pants - retracts his claws - clenches and unclenches his fists - and stands above Peter, because that is Stiles's place, now, above everything. (Except the moon. Never forget. Except - )

Peter raises himself on his elbows, licks his bruised mouth, and smiles. "Feels good, doesn't it? The rush? Derek loved it, too, loved - "

Stiles snarls, broken and red-eyed and furious, and growls: "Don't. Talk about him."

"Why?" Peter smirks. "Because he's dead?"

Stiles's heart thuds.

"Or because you killed him?"

No -

"Because you _had_ to kill him?"

And Stiles turns aside, breathing raggedly, calming himself, because he's the Alpha and he has to be calm, because he needs Peter in his pack, needs -

"Because you made it so I had to kill him," Stiles murmurs, at last, and steps away.

But Peter just shuffles closer, on his knees, chin still tilted back, throat still bared. "A cancer must be excised," Peter insists, quietly, doggedly. "He was killing us, _weakening_  us, and you knew it - "

"Stop - "

"You saw it. All I did was prove it to you. All I did was show you how wrong he was for the pack, the harm he was doing - "

" _Stop_." And just like that, his hand's around Peter's neck again, claws piercing the skin, rivulets of red staining Peter's collar.

Peter grins. "You aren't sentimental. Like he was. You do what has to be done."

Stiles doesn't close his eyes. Doesn't _sob_ -

He's the Alpha, he's -

He keeps his grip steady, his fangs in, blanks his face -

Oh. His face was _already_ blank -

Peter moans. "Such control - "

Stiles flings him away. And Peter lets himself be flung, against the far wall, hitting it with a dull thump and sliding to the floor. Not a moment of defiance. Not a second's questioning. His limbs are loose, relaxed. His body language is perpetually, flawlessly submissive, and it's -

It's perfect.

Manipulative. It's -

It's designed to make Stiles enjoy it.

And the worst part of it is, he does.

The weakness of an Alpha is, ironically, the Alpha's power, the Alpha's need to dominate, which immediately makes the Alpha vulnerable to the vulnerabilities of _others_ , the submission, the surrender -

Derek forgot that. Perhaps Derek never knew it, never knew that his control of himself outweighed the importance of his control over his pack. Or perhaps he knew it, but simply never managed it, which, again, made him unsafe as a leader, untrustworthy as an Alpha -

Scott never trusted Derek, as an Alpha. No one did. Not Peter, not Erica, not Isaac, not Boyd, not Jackson. None of them. And that was dangerous, that was - that was _foolish_ -

When Stiles had asked to be Turned, he'd honestly meant to fix that, to be the one Derek confided in, to get Derek to open up to him and eventually to the rest of the pack, to let them all in, to help Derek realize that how he was doing things was wrong, that it would get them all killed, _was_ getting them all killed, that it would -

But Derek never learned, did he? He never realized, and things - things just got _worse_ -

The pack got more and more fragmented, more lost, more _afraid_ -

Derek was always afraid -

The pack couldn't afford fear. And still, Stiles tried to set things to rights, tried to be - a fucking _bridge_ , between Derek and the rest of them, tried to bind the pack together against the onslaught of Hunters, of other Alphas, of everything out there that sought to destroy them -

And then, Jackson died.

Jackson died precisely because Derek didn't trust Erica and Boyd enough to be on watch, didn't trust _himself_ with them enough to -

Stiles had known, at that moment, what he would have to do. But he'd held off, for a few weeks, unwilling to - to put his thoughts into words, let alone into action, until Peter had come to him and whispered, in his sibilant voice, had pointed out how important it was that Derek be removed, how _urgent_ , and would Stiles be happy if _Scott_ died, next -

Stiles would never. Never let that _happen_ -

And so. And so it had been done.

And now, Derek is ten feet beneath the Hale house, resting, at last, among the ashes of his own family.

Stiles stands on the floorboards almost directly above where he's buried. Stiles doesn't think about bringing him back. Stiles doesn't think about anything, except how to defeat the Alpha pack, and how to keep Beacon Hills safe.

Stiles doesn't think about anything but Peter's throat, a pale glimmer in this dark room, and how _available_ it is to Stiles, just as available as that hot, blood-wet mouth -

Peter peels himself away from the wall and approaches Stiles, still on his knees. This time, Stiles lets him, lets his own fingers curl in Peter's hair, lets himself tilt Peter's head and watch Peter's lips part.

"Yes," Peter sighs, eyes lit with a hunger that's as needy as it should be, as malleable, as -

"You know what to do," Stiles says, past the bile-bitter taste on his tongue, and Peter proves that yes... yes, he does.

 

* * *

  **fin.**  


 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Entelechy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/907405) by [majoline](https://archiveofourown.org/users/majoline/pseuds/majoline)




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